We flew on, heading in an easterly direction, and in almost no time we were over the grey, mean streets of Wandsworth. Mr Wells slowed our passage, and set the Machine to hover.
He shook his head.
“I had no idea of the scale of their murders,” he said.
“We had allowed ourselves to neglect the fact,” I said. “Each monster requires the blood of a human being every day. The longer the Martians are allowed to stay alive, the longer that slaughter will continue.”
Amelia said nothing, clutching my hand.
“We cannot delay,” said Mr Wells. “We must continue bombing until every one is dead.”
“But where are the Martians?” I said. “I assumed London would be teeming with them.”
We looked in every direction, but apart from isolated pillars of smoke, where buildings yet burned, there was not a single sign of the invaders.
“We must search them out,” said Mr Wells. “However long it takes.”
“Are they still in London?” said Amelia. “How do we know that they have not finished their work here, and are not even now destroying other cities?”
Neither I nor Mr Wells knew the answer to that.
“All we can do,” I said, “is to search for them and kill them. If London has been abandoned by them, we will have to go in pursuit. I see no alternative.”
Mr Wells had been staring down disparagingly at the streets of Wandsworth; that most ugly of London suburbs had, unaccountably, been spared by the Martians, although like everywhere else it was deserted. He moved the controlling levers decisively, and set our course again for the heart of London.
ii
Of all the Thames bridges we saw, Westminster was the one least overgrown with the red weed, and so Mr Wells took us down and we landed in the centre of the roadway. No Martian could approach us without walking out across the bridge, and that would give us enough warning so that we could start the Space Machine and escape.
For the last hour we had flown over the southern suburbs of the city. The extent of the desolation was almost beyond words. Where the Martians had not attacked with their heat-beams they had smothered with their black smoke, and where neither had been brought to bear the red weed had sprung willingly from the river to choke and tangle.
We had seen nobody at all; the only movement had been that of a hungry dog, hopping with one leg broken through the streets of Lambeth.
Much debris floated in the river, and we saw many small boats overturned. In the Pool of London we had seen a score of corpses, caught by some freak of the tide, bobbing whitely by the entrance to Surrey Docks.
Then we had set our course by the landmarks we knew, and come to Westminster Bridge. We had seen the Tower of London, with its stout walls unscathed by the Martians, but its green swards had become a jungle of Martian weed. Tower Bridge too, its roadway left open, had long strands of weed cobwebbing its graceful lines. Then we had seen the high dome of St Paul’s, and noticed how it stood undamaged above the lower buildings of the City; our mood changed as we passed beyond it and saw that on its western side a gaping hole had been made.
So at last we landed on Westminster Bridge, well depressed by what we had seen. Mr Wells turned off the attenuation, and at once we breathed the air of London, and heard its sounds.
We smelt…
We smelt the residue of smoke; the bitter, metallic tang of the weed; the sweetness of putrefaction; the cool salty airs of the river; the heady odour of the macadamed roadway, simmering in the summer’s sunshine.
We heard…
A great silence overwhelmed London. There was the flow of the river below the bridge, and an occasional creak from the weed which still grew prolifically by the parapet. But there was no clatter of hooves, no grind of wheels, no cries or calls of people, nor sound of footfall.
Directly before us stood the Palace of Westminster, topped by the tower of Big Ben, unharmed. The clock had stopped at seventeen minutes past two.
We pushed back our goggles, and stepped down from the Space Machine. I went with Amelia to stand by the side of the bridge, staring up the river. Mr Wells walked off alone, looking in a brooding fashion at the mountainous piles of weed that had submerged the Victoria Embankment. He had been silent and thoughtful as we toured the deathful city, and now as he stood by himself, staring down at the sluggishly flowing river, I saw that his shoulders were slumped and his expression was pensive.
Amelia too was staring at our friend, but then she slipped her hand into mine and for a moment rested her cheek against my shoulder.
“Edward, this is terrible! I had no idea that things were so bad.”
I stared gloomily at the view, trying to find something about it that would indicate some optimistic development, but the emptiness and stillness were total. I had never before seen the skies above London so free of soot, but that was hardly recompense for this utter destruction of the greatest city in the world.
“Soon everywhere will be like this,” Amelia said. “We were wrong to think we could tackle the Martians, even though we have killed a few. What I find hardest to accept is that all this is our doing, Edward. We brought this menace to the world.”
“No,” I said instantly. “We are not to blame.”
I felt her stiffen. “We can’t absolve ourselves of this.”
I said: “The Martians would have invaded Earth whether we took a part or not. We saw their preparations. If there is consolation to be found, then it is that only ten projectiles made it to Earth. Your revolution prevented the monsters from carrying out their plans to the full. What we see is bad enough, but think how much worse it might have been.”
“I suppose so.”
She fell silent for a few seconds, but then went on: “Edward, we must return to Mars. While there is any chance that the monsters rule that world, Earthmen can never relax their guard. We have the Space Machine to take us, for if one can be built so hastily in the urgent circumstances in which we worked, another more powerful Machine can be built, one that would carry a thousand armed men. I promised the people of Mars that I would return, and now we must.”
I listened to her words carefully, and realized that the passions that had driven her on Mars had been replaced by wisdom and understanding.
“We will go back to Mars one day,” I said. “There is no alternative.”
We had both forgotten Mr Wells’s presence while we spoke, but now he turned from his position and walked slowly back towards us. I saw that in the few minutes he had been by himself a fundamental change had come over his bearing. The weight of defeat had been removed from his shoulders, and his eyes were gleaming once more.
“You two look most uncommonly miserable!” he cried. “There is no cause for that. Our work is over The Martians have not left … they are still in London, and the battle is won!”
iii
Amelia and I stared uncomprehendingly at Mr Wells after he had made this unexpected statement. He moved towards the Space Machine, and placing one foot on the iron frame he turned to face us, clasping his jacket lapels in his fists. He cleared his throat.
“This has been a war of worlds,” said Mr Wells, speaking calmly and in a clear ringing voice. “Where we have been mistaken is to treat it as a war of intelligences. We have seen the invaders’ monstrous appearance, but persuaded by their qualities of cunning, valour and intelligence have thought of them as men. So we have fought them as if they were men, and we have not done well. Our Army was overrun, and our houses were burnt and crushed. However, the Martians’ domain on Earth is a small one. I dare say when the recovery is made we shall discover that no more than a few hundred square miles of territory have been conquered. Even so, small as has been the battleground, this has been a war between worlds, and when the Martians came to Earth so rudely they did not realize what they were taking on.”